


what do you say (to taking chances)?

by wickedlittleoz



Series: all the roads lead back to you [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, M/M, Unbeta'd, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 22:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedlittleoz/pseuds/wickedlittleoz
Summary: Ten years ago, Hargrove seemed to always be on edge, his skin burning on the surface with hate. He was always ready for a fight, because it was easier to be that person, the one everyone feared, instead of the one that actually let people in. Like there was something he had to hide. Like he was terrified that if he let people in, they would unravel him from the inside and spread him out and lay him open for everyone to see the real him.Thiswas the real him, Steve realized. Full of smiles and comfortable in his skin, open and friendly. Light-hearted and inviting.





	what do you say (to taking chances)?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuckingShitBalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckingShitBalls/gifts).



> Sarah sent me a prompt over on Tumblr for a fic where they meet again in the future and Billy has recovered, is in a happy place, is actually friendly. This is what happened.  
> It was supposed to be a drabble, but it wouldn't stop growing, so I'm posting here.  
> (The sex part is very vague, sorry pervs.)

“Yes, mom. I’ll let you know as soon as we land. It’ll be fine. Yes. Yes, I love you, too.”

Steve sighed and slipped his cellphone back into his briefcase after turning it off. On the seat next to him, Natasha laughed softly. He glanced over at her and gave a shy smile.

“She does this every time,” he said, annoyance clear in his tone and in the soft blush of his cheeks.

“Don’t be so hard on her. It’s a mom thing, they’re all like that,” she smiled sympathetically, as if to say that her mother had also put her through a list of instructions before she left.

Steve just nodded quietly and turned his attention back to buckling himself into the seat, because he didn’t want to say that it took his mother his near-death for her to start caring about him.

He could still feel the damp cold air of the Upside Down in his lungs at times, could still remember how sore his throat had been from screaming for hours, days, trapped in those tunnels after a portal closed, until Hopper tracked him and had Eleven reopen it.

His parents had been in town _accidentally_ that week. That was when Hellen Harrington realized she maybe had to look after her kid.

Of course, at the time they hadn’t come out to his parents with the whole truth, and right now he couldn’t (and didn’t want to) tell his new secretary that he had spent his high school years fighting monsters from another dimension. So Steve smiled, settled back and prepared himself for the long flight ahead of him.

 

After high school he had no other option but to work for his father the way Mr. Harrington had always wanted. Steve didn’t get into any universities and after a whole year went by without any incidents, even Hopper started telling him it was time to move on.

So he did. Took the job and worked hard so he could convince himself and others that he liked it, that he wouldn’t rather be serving ice cream scoops at the Hawkins mall by day and killing monsters by night. That he didn’t still wake up screaming in the middle of the night and covered in cold sweat. That he didn’t call the Hopper-Byers at least twice a week to make sure they were safe.

Steve climbed up the chain fast, to the glee of his parents and the envy of co-workers, not because of his last name, but because he found out that he was _good_ at the thing. And because the only way to keep his mind out of the Upside Down was to overwork himself.

Now, ten years into the business, he sat comfortably in the position of Sales Director. But he still carried the nailed bat with him every day and everywhere in the trunk of his car.

 

It was late when they landed in Los Angeles and even later by the time they managed to get to the hotel and into their rooms. Still, before he so much as unbuttoned his cuffs, Steve called his parents’ place back in Hawkins. His mother picked up on the first ring; the conversation was short and ended with her complaining that the house felt too empty without both him and his father around, so she would probably be driving to Indianapolis the next morning and he should call there instead.

Steve wanted to say _well, now you know how I felt growing up_. But it was pointless and wouldn’t fix things or change the fact that he still triple-checked doors and only slept with music on.

As soon as they were done with goodnights, Steve dialed the only other number he knew by heart – Joyce’s. It was Dustin on the other end and he refused to pass the phone to anyone other than Joyce, so for a good fifteen minutes he had to mediate the conversation between Steve and the rest of the kids (not actual kids anymore at this point, but still thirteen-year-olds to his eyes).

At some point he heard Hopper go _let the man sleep, you little shitheads_ and they quickly said goodbye before passing Joyce the phone. Hearing her voice and her motherly tone was the most comforting part of the whole call, and she wished him the best of luck about five times before hanging up.

She also told him to _be very careful with the people you may meet there on the west coast, Steve dearest_ and Steve knew very well who she meant. But he really couldn’t bring himself to worry. By this time in two days he would be back in Indianapolis, hopefully with a signed contract for the new West Coast branch in his suitcase.

Less than a minute after he set the phone down on the stand with a heavy breath, Steve heard soft knocks on his door. Natasha stood outside, grinning at him when he swung the door open.

“Was that your mother?” She asked, studying the now softened creases on his eyes and handing him a paper folder with more documents for the meeting.

Steve smiled to himself. “Yeah.”

 

Basically, the meeting sucked.

The other party was full of specifications and sounded like they were trying to open their own company instead of a branch. Steve struggled to come to an agreement with them, way past the limits of his patience, but he kept his composure. It went on for over three hours, but the only thing they settled on was a date for a conference call in two weeks.

He could just see the look of utter disappointment in his father’s face when he told him. He always had such high expectations for Steve that when he so much as typed two words wrong in the same paper, it seemed like the world was coming to an end. Steve always found himself looking for his approval – of Mr. Harrington’s, the boss, not the dad.

“They’ll come to themselves,” Natasha said as they sat in the taxi on their way back to the hotel. “It’s the best deal they could get. They were just greedy and trying to make us break.”

“Yeah.” Steve rubbed his face tiredly, “I just don’t know if we can trust these guys anymore. I don’t wanna be sitting at the office all the way across the country thinking they’re running this in our terms while they plot a _coup d’état_ of sorts.”

Natasha shrugged, “You could send someone of your trust to run it here. Is there someone you guys could give up back home?”

Steve looked over at her, terrified for a second at the thought that this woman who’d been working for him for less than a month was already trying to take his job. But there was no glint of ambition in her eyes and he immediately regretted the thought altogether.

In truth, his father had mentioned that he wanted Steve to take the high chair in this new branch. Steve had fought because there was no way he was moving across the country (and so far away from Hawkins) for a job he didn’t even like 100%.

He had known, then, that it was the best option for the company and he still knew it now – it was so obvious that Natasha had said it nonchalantly, like it was the first thing to pop in her head. He’d been thinking about other people that they could send all the way to the west, but his most trusty employees all had a lot more time in the company and they also had families, and he couldn’t ignore the trouble it would cause for them to move on a Harrington whim like that.

Steve was still the best option and he hated it.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said vaguely, looking out of the window.

It was around 6pm now and his eyes landed on bar with a large neon sign that was flickering to life. Steve couldn’t help but think that he really needed a drink.

 

They went over the papers from the meeting again when they arrived at the hotel and while they waited for their pizzas. Steve was tired, but he had still offered to buy them dinner at some nice restaurant.

Natasha, as he was starting to realize, was a workaholic like him, maybe worse, so they chose to sit in and butt their heads a little more just to figure out where it had gone wrong.

They had to stop when the pizzas arrived to avoid getting grease on the papers. As they ate on the floor of Steve’s room, his cellphone, the brick-sized thing which he still sometimes forgot existed, rang. It was his father.

Steve hadn’t planned on telling him until he went into the office again in two days, or worst case scenario, the next night, when he got home from the airport. He still hadn’t figured out a way to make it sound like they had covered some ground, _any_ ground. So when he said that they hadn’t actually made an agreement, he had to endure a good ten minute lesson on business and how to _not_ ruin it.

Somewhere along the way Natasha had collected the papers and mouthed that she’d be in her room if he needed her. Steve was so thankful he made mental notes to give her a raise.

When it was all finally done, Steve was running so high on adrenaline and frustration that he decided to go for a walk, or he’d trash that stupidly bright hotel room. The salty ocean breeze helped settle his heart down and for the first time he thought he understood why people liked the coast so much.

He walked aimlessly for a while, until he found himself across the street from that same bar from before. It was just one block from the beach and so at that late of night it was packed with loud people. Rock classics from his childhood and adolescence were pouring out and Steve instantly felt draw in.

The day had been shit. He could _really_ use a drink.

As soon as he stepped inside, he realized he was way too overdressed for the place, even with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first buttons of his shirt popped open. Except that, as he made his way between the tables and dancing bodies bathed in warm, orange light, no one seemed to pay attention to him.

He sat at the bar and ordered whiskey – on the rocks, because he was already starting to sweat in there. The place was nice; good music, wooden tables and stools, the walls covered in posters of rock bands from back in his days and pictures of the beach and a few license plates as well. It was comfortable to sit in and he had a lot to look at, so much he didn’t notice the blond figure cutting through people and coming to a halt behind him.

“My eyes must be fooling me,” said a bass voice which Steve hadn’t heard in a really long time (ten years, to be more precise) and suddenly it was like he could hear Joyce again.

_Be very careful with the people you may meet there on the west coast, Steve dearest._

_Steve dearest_ had disregarded her warning almost immediately. If there was such a thing as fate, it was having a good laugh at him in that moment.

He spun around slowly on his stool, almost refusing to acknowledge the man. There was no mistaking him; his blonde curls had only grown longer and changed in style (he had sidecuts, like some punk kid), his tan so dark that under the lights he almost looked like an orange-skinned alien.

But those eyes were still the ones that used to eat Steve alive during basketball games, still the ones that had scanned over his face (from a distance, like he was fighting the urge to come closer because he just knew he couldn’t) when Steve was brought out of the tunnels.

Billy Hargrove smiled, lighting up those baby blues like Christmas, and spread his arms out for a hug.

Steve stumbled into the hug awkwardly, still in too much shock. He knew Billy had left and gone back to California shortly after he left, knew he’d been living there since then. But what were the odds that they’d run into each other, he had thought when Joyce reminded him the night before. It was a big city. There was no way—

But this _was_ Billy Hargrove and he still wore that shitty cologne, he still had earrings dangling from his ears, still had such a strong presence that he seemed to draw everyone’s attention to himself even without effort.

He hugged tighter now, though, Steve noticed as the air was knocked out of him. Hargrove pulled back after a minute, but kept his hands on his shoulder, looked him up and down with a smile that was so honest and sincere that Steve thought he’d never seen on him before.

“Man, why didn’t you say you were in town?” He asked, sliding onto the stool next to Steve’s.

“It’s only for a day,” Steve cleared his throat, trying to regain his bearings. “Business stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re looking fancy alright,” Hargrove chuckled and again it threw Steve a little off-balance. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Steve checked his watch. It was half past eleven. Suddenly “tomorrow morning” seemed a little too soon.

The barman turned back to them and slid Steve’s drink in his direction. He didn’t recall seeing Hargrove talk to the guy, but he also handed him a beer.

“Well, I’m glad we met, then,” Billy said after taking a swig of the beer. His plump lips shone wet in the light. “You with somebody?”

“My secretary, but she stayed in the hotel. We had a…” _Horrendous afternoon. Glimpse of hell. Stroll in the park with the devil himself._ “Very long meeting earlier today.”

“Shit, you got your own secretary, Harrington?” Steve rolled his eyes and Hargrove leaned a little closer, “Is she pretty?”

“Aw man, come on!” Steve felt himself blush and hid it behind his drink.

“What? Isn’t that what you suit and tie guys do?” He pressed, but with a chuckle that made it clear it was all a joke.

It was odd. Steve had never been this comfortable around Hargrove before. But again, this didn’t even look like the kid he’d met back in school.

Ten years ago, Hargrove seemed to always be on edge, his skin burning on the surface with hate. He was always ready for a fight, because it was easier to be that person, the one everyone feared, instead of the one that actually let people in. Like there was something he had to hide. Like he was terrified that if he let people in, they would unravel him from the inside and spread him out and lay him open for everyone to see the real him.

 _This_ was the real him, Steve realized. Full of smiles and comfortable in his skin, open and friendly. Light-hearted and inviting.

Steve suddenly felt very self-conscious. Hargrove had clearly evolved so much in this past decade, while all he had managed to do was build a career which he hated.

“Yeah, and what do you do?” He asked and watched as Hargrove waved his bottle of beer in a wide motion, showing off the room. “Wait, you _own_ this place?”

Hargrove finished his beer and set the empty bottle down on the counter. He smiled and shrugged, acting coy and shy, but his eyes sparkled with so much pride when he nodded.

“Holy shit, man!” He took another look around and slowly realized that the place _screamed_ Billy Hargrove, from the music to the decoration to even the customers and the staff.

He felt proud of the man sitting beside him, as if he had any right, as if Hargrove needed his approval. Still, as his eyes landed back on him, Hargrove had been staring at the amazement in his face.

 

They talked for what felt like hours, Hargrove almost entirely abandoning his post – only answering questions from the staff and shaking hands with the random customer, but never letting it linger, never losing sight of Steve.

He told Steve about how he’d left Hawkins with nothing to his name except his car and come back home, ready to start over again. And that one of the people who inspired him to do so was actually Steve himself (to god, he didn’t think he was good enough to be anyone’s inspiration, but Hargrove wanted to hear none of that).

Said he talked to people he used to know before, got a job as a mechanic, but also a bartending gig in a bar which closed a couple years back, and he quickly realized he had a knack for the thing. So he saved money, he kept friends close, one thing led to another and now he had his own place, running for two years already.

He also asked about Steve, heard his monotonous ramble about the business life with so much interest that Steve hardly ever got even from his therapist. He seemed very honestly sorry to hear that the meeting hadn’t gone well – _it would be nice to have an excuse to see you around these parts every now and then_.

At some point he asked about Steve’s love life, gaze warm and fixed with interest on his face as he spoke. Hargrove was _“surprised”_ to hear that Hawkins’ most eligible bachelor was in fact still single and joked about Nancy’s hold on his heart. Steve thought he saw Hargrove’s eyes flare with something unreadable when he said he’d gotten over Nancy ages ago, had actually been Jonathan’s best man at their wedding four years back.

As it appeared, despite the longing looks of lust he got from several women _and_ men all night, Hargrove was still single, as well.

Steve didn’t want to think he was being flirted, but after a few drinks and maybe too much reminiscing about old days, Hargrove’s hand had planted itself on his thigh and he was leaning so close to Steve that his teenage self had the urge to flee before anyone took notice of them. Times were different now and Steve had dated guys before, but he still thought his family would flip out if they knew.

 _Well. This is California and the only people I know here other than the man in front of me is probably asleep now_ , he thought. And it was a dangerous thought, but it wormed itself into his brain and made a home there while he tried to focus on what Hargrove was saying.

In all honesty, even back in the day he used to think Hargrove was constantly flirting with him. There was too much trying to get his attention at all costs, too much tongue making itself known, too much _heat_.

But 1984 was the wrong time, Hawkins was the wrong place and they were both the wrong kids.

_Not anymore._

“Harrington?”

He blinked and looked up from Billy’s lips to his eyes. They were closer than he remembered.

“You wanna get out of here?”

 

The hotel was closer than Billy’s place. As soon as the door shut behind them, Hargrove was on him, lips crashing with his, hands tugging at his shirt. Hungry, like he’d been starving for a taste of Steve for so long.

(He couldn’t say he didn’t understand; he’d had drunk, lonely nights, jerking off to the memory of their sweat-slicked skin gliding together during practice.)

Hargrove was careful, though. His hands had small calluses that raised goose bumps on Steve’s skin as they went. His mouth was hot, his tongue, skilled. Nothing that compared to anything Steve might have imagined in his few lonely moments – he was _so much more_.

The adrenaline pumping in his veins and the heat building in the room had him sweating off the alcohol within minutes, but lust clouded his mind just as fast. It was overwhelming, like a teenage fantasy come true when they moved together and he could feel Hargrove’s heat and tightness enveloping him.

Billy kissed him when they came, drowning out the sounds of his orgasm. Slow and languid. Like lovers.

 

“Do you really have to go?” He asked after a moment and pressed soft kisses to Steve’s shoulder, curled into his chest, “I would love to show you around town. We could go to the beach, you’d look great with a tan…”

“I don’t tan, Hargrove, I redden.” Steve chuckled and then sighed, “Yeah, I do. Have to report this meeting in, discuss our _plan of action_ , as my dad calls it.”

Hargrove snorted a laugh. “Didn’t realize you guys worked for the military.”

Steve laughed as well, his fingers running through Billy’s soft curls. The guy was practically purring at the touch.

“Come back,” he said, propping his chin on Steve’s chest.

Steve slid his hand down to his nape and pulled him in for a kiss. The sun was starting to rise outside and bathe the room in a soft glow, which seemed to make Hargrove’s skin _sparkle_.

 _He really fits in here_ , Steve thought because he looked warm. Alight. Happy. And Steve was still surprised with how different he was from the Billy he met back at home.

Suddenly, the idea of directing the West Coast branch didn’t seem so bad.

“I’ll try,” he whispered into Billy’s mouth and kissed him again.

“Promise?”

Steve stared into those blue eyes, bright as a summer sky, deep as the ocean. Back in ‘84 he had let his “bigger problems” get in the way of him trying to approach this kid that made his heart skip a beat whenever their gazes met. Now, _fate_ (if there was such a thing) was giving them a second chance.

Steve grinned.

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Celine Dion's Taking Chances (obviously), which isn't a 90's song and wasn't originally my inspiration for the fic, but ended up having a lot to do with the story.  
> As usual, this is unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes. I wrote it mostly in one go last night and fixed what I could find after sleep.
> 
> Hit me up with prompts or headcanons or whatever on Tumblr also @wickedlittleoz. Thanks for reading! <3


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